


tell me what you see

by whalefairyfandom12



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pianist Isak, Suicidal Thoughts, film nerd even, nobody dies don't worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-15 10:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17526932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalefairyfandom12/pseuds/whalefairyfandom12
Summary: Isak is a pianist.It's who he is, and sometimes it feels like that's all that's left. At first, Even is nothing more than the asshole who stole his practice room--a film major with a surprising passion for music. There's something undeniable about his charm, though, and the more time they spend together the harder it is to ignore.Isak's a pianist, but maybe that doesn't have to be all he is.





	1. op. 1

It’s a Tuesday—easily the worst day of the week, and someone’s stolen Isak’s room again. He doesn’t have to knock on the door to tell; the sounds of Debussy are more than enough indication but he looks anyway. Sure enough a blond haired student is sitting at the piano, eyes closed and blissfully unaware of his imposition on Isak’s life.

  
  
It‘s made all the worse by the fact that he isn’t a bad pianist. Quite the opposite, actually. Still, this is Isak’s practice room (he isn’t being immature Jonas, shut up) and he’s spent the last eighty five minutes being shouted at in music theory. He just wanted an hour before he has to start on his homework, and if he doesn’t get it out now Jonas will give him that _look_ that makes him feel like a parasite; sucking the life out of his friends with his shitty attitude.

  
  
Somewhere between self-pitying thoughts and murder fantasies the pianist had stopped playing. Isak’s head snaps up at the sudden silence, flushing at the amused smile on the other boy’s face.

  
  
He sighs, resigning himself to his fate and yanking on the door handle as it swings open. “Sorry for bothering you,” he lies.

  
  
“It’s okay,” the pianist assures, and even past his irritation Isak can’t help the sudden dryness in his mouth at the sound of his voice. “You’re welcome to watch anytime.”

  
  
Isak coughs into his hand. His blush has probably traveled up his neck at this point. Strangely, the other boy’s attractiveness is only pissing him off more. It’s not enough he has to steal Isak’s room, he has to be talented and fucking hot too.

  
  
In the intermission between sentences the natural pause had turned into mutual silence. The boy is still staring at him, expression unfathomable. Isak shifts his backpack to the other shoulder, the awkward unbearable enough he finally searches for something to say. “What are you majoring in?”

  
  
“Film.”

  
  
Isak grits his teeth. He’s not even a fucking music major. “Okay,” he says, probably harsher than appropriate but too done to care. “I came here to practice, but I guess I’ll come back later.”

  
  
“Wait.” The asshole stands, and Isak hates how genuinely apologetic he seems. “You can have the room if you want. I’m finished.”

  
  
“Really?”

  
  
The boy nods, sticking out his hand. “I’m Even,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  
  
Isak stares at it for a moment before shaking it. Even’s grip is firmer than he would’ve expected. “Isak.”

  
  
“What’s your major?”

  
  
“Music.” Isak pauses. “Concentration in piano.”

  
  
“Concert pianist?” Even asks. He doesn’t seem like he’s going anywhere, and Isak drops his backpack with a thump.

  
  
Isak shrugs. Him and every other music major. “Maybe.”

  
  
“I want to be a director,” Even says. “So I know a little about unrealistic ideas. Not that being either of those things is impossible, just that society’s expectations are biased.” The boy leans back against the piano, pressing against the keys with a discordant crash.

 

“What year are you?” Isak asks, because apparently he can only ask icebreaker level questions.

 

“Third.”

 

“I don’t remember seeing you last year,” he says. That’s definitely something he would’ve remembered.

 

“I’m a transfer,” Even says. “You’re a second year, right?”

 

“Yeah. How did you know?”

 

Isak swears he sees a flash of panic in Even’s expression. “You have that younger student look. Short, terrified, obviously intimidated.”

 

“I’m not short.”

 

Even hums, looking Isak up and down as he tries not to fidget. “I don’t know. You might have a point. It’s hard to tell when you’re all the way down there.”

 

Isak scowls. “Fuck you,” he says without much bite. “Just because you’re a fucking giraffe doesn’t mean I’m short.”

 

Even smiles, and he's reminded of that stupid hashtag he and Jonas used to rip to shreds. (#I saw a man so beautiful I started crying??) The window lets enough light slip through to illuminate Even with a gentle glow, making his hair look incredibly soft. Isak swallows, ducking his head.

 

“What’re you working on?” Even asks, rapping on the top of the piano.

 

“Salut d’Amour."

 

“That’s a beautiful piece.” He takes a step back, gesturing towards the piano bench. “Will you play it?”

 

“Right now?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Isak shrugs, adjusting his snapback and sitting on the bench. He exhales, spreading his music out before him and taking a moment to study it. He rests his fingers on top of the keys. It’s not that he’s nervous exactly, just that he’d rather not completely embarrass himself in front of Even and he’s already regretting agreeing.

 

He counts the first measure silently, foot sliding onto the damper pedal as he begins to play. His hands are a little sweaty and they slip over the keys, but thankfully muscle memory takes over. He tries not to glance at Even--positive or negative the other boy’s reaction will throw him off.

 

Salut d’Amour was one of his mom’s favorite songs. He’d never gotten the chance to play it for her, but his piano teacher had suggested he learn it for a change of pace.

 

Isak likes it well enough; likes the undercurrent of the main theme throughout the entire song, likes the melody of the right hand, and the long stretches of legato. There’s something freeing in a piece with so many opportunities for changes in dynamics. He can disappear in the quiet of  _piano_ and slam on the keys as it crescendos, letting out everything he wants to say but never can. 

 

He’s really only learned the first two pages and that’s where he stops, unwilling to test his luck.

 

Even claps loudly from behind his shoulder, and he turns to see him staring in awe. “That was great!”

 

“Thank you,” he says, wiping his palms on his jeans.

 

“How long have you been playing?”

 

“Fourteen years give or take.” It had actually been his dad’s idea. By taking Isak to all his lessons, it was a convenient way to ensure he was out of the house at least once a week after work.

 

“Wow. I’ve only been playing for five.”

 

“I can’t tell,” Isak offers. “You’re good.”

 

Even inclines his head. “Thanks.” His jacket shifts as he picks up his bag, revealing a white shirt underneath. “I have to go to class,” he says. Isak nods, trying to hide the twinge of disappointment as he skims a finger over the top of the keys.  “I’ll see you around?”

 

“Sure,” he says. He’s not entirely convinced--they’ve gone this long without meeting, after all, but he figures it would be rude to say otherwise.

 

“Bye Isak,” Even says, and Isak tries not to focus on the shape of his name between Even’s lips as he watches him walk away.


	2. op. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have you seen the video of a kitten in a bathtub of chickens?”
> 
> Isak’s a little taken aback by the non sequitur, but he rolls with it. “I don’t think so?” 
> 
> “You remind me a little of the cat.”

Eskild is already home by the time Isak gets there. Judging by the music he's seemingly entertaining someone. He’d learned the hard way not to knock when _The Lion King_ is playing. (“Isak,” Eskild had told him later that night. “Don’t knock and be a cockblock.”)

 

Isak wanders towards his bedroom and shuts the door. He collapses on the bed and rolls on his back to stare at the ceiling. He can still hear Eskild’s music if he listens hard enough, and on the other side of the wall he can faintly make out the sounds of Linn’s tv. It’s rare that the Kollektiv is ever completely silent, but he finds prefers it that way.

 

He reaches for his phone and swipes past the flood of messages from Magnus. Instagram opens on a photo of Eva and her friends at a party, drinks in hand.

 

He starts to type ‘Even’ in the search bar before remembering he doesn’t know his last name and it’s an unfortunately common first name. Still, he hits search anyway and scrolls through some of the profiles. None of them are the Even he’s looking for.

 

His phone vibrates with a text from Jonas asking if anyone’s going to Penetrator Chris’ party. Magnus and Mahdi quickly answer affirmatively. Isak switches to the message and deliberates, thumbs hovering over the screen. It’s barely five; there’s no reason not to but he can’t find one to either.

 

A text bubble chimes and he swipes to view it, stifling a grimace. It’s from his mother.

 

**just as Sodom and Gomorrah and the surrounding cities, which likewise indulged in sexual immorality and pursued unnatural desire, serve as an example by undergoing a punishment of eternal fire. (Jude 7)**

 

He forces himself to read it, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He’s not going to respond--he never does, but he figures the least he can do is read whatever she’s trying to say. Most of the time he wishes he hadn’t. He sighs, slumping against the wall. If he wasn’t before he’s really not in the mood to go out now. He texts this to the chat and unsurprisingly Magnus responds almost immediately.

 

**What**

**Why**

**We never see you anymore dude**

 

Jonas sends him a separate message asking if everything’s alright. Isak shuts his phone off and throws it at the wall. He misses, naturally. It’s not that he’s angry with Jonas, or even Magnus, but they’ll keep irritating him until he gives in and he doesn’t think he can deal with anymore bullshit today.

 

There’s a thump against the wall from the direction of Eskild’s room, and he hopes it isn’t what he thinks it is. He pulls his pillow over his ears just in case.

 

::

 

It’s another week before he sees Even again. If anyone were to ask he would deny it, but every time he catches a flash of blue he can’t stop himself from checking to see if it’s Even. It never is.

 

“You should’ve come yesterday,” Magnus says. The four of them have been walking across campus for the last ten minutes, and he has yet to shut about about some girl he’d “hooked up with” last night. “So many hot chicks.” He pauses, panic momentarily overtaking his excitement. “And dudes! Lots of hot dudes.”

 

Mahdi snorts, and Jonas claps him on the shoulder. Isak tries to suppress his laughter. “It’s fine, Magnus,” he says.

 

“I just mean there were lots of guys there too,” Magnus rambles. “So if you _had_ come I’m sure you would’ve found someone to hook up with that wasn’t a girl.” Mahdi’s face is slowly turning red, and he bursts out laughing. “It’s not funny,” Magnus says, looking wounded. “Isak shouldn’t feel left out.”

 

Isak exchanges a look with Jonas, coughing into his sleeve to hide his own amusement. Sometimes Magnus tries a little too hard, but he appreciates the place it comes from. Most of the time. “Thanks.”

 

“That’s bullshit anyway,” Mahdi says, steering the conversation back to safer territory. “That you hooked up with her.”

 

“When have I ever lied about something like that?” Magnus asks indignantly.

 

“All of the time? I don’t think any of these people are real.”

 

“Josefine’s real!”

 

“Sure,” Jonas interjects. “Whatever you say.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Do you remember ‘Astrid’?” Mahdi adds.

 

“Yeah, how’s your relationship going anyway?” Jonas asks. “Totally real and very fulfilling?”

 

Isak glances at his watch. If he hurries he can probably squeeze in a quick practice session before his next class.  “I’ll catch up with you later,” he says, cutting off Magnus’ retort.

 

Jonas frowns, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. “Where are you going?”

 

“Practice.”

 

“Again?”

 

Isak shrugs. “I have a recital coming up,” he lies. “So I have to practice more than usual.”

 

“Okay,” Jonas says. His brow is still a little too furrowed for his words to be genuine, but he’s too good a friend to call Isak on his bullshit in front of everyone else. “If you have time later we could get kebab?”

 

Isak is already starting towards the practice rooms but he stops long enough to nod. It’s not that he doesn’t want to spend time with Jonas, but they’ve been friends for so long sometimes he feels like he expects something that’s not there anymore. At the time Isak had thought coming out would fix whatever was wrong. And to be fair it did--for a little. After awhile, though, it felt worse than ever.

 

The soles of his trainers squeak across the floor, echoing down the hall. Isak’s usual room is towards at the end of the hall. It’s two spaces up: far enough away people aren’t likely to bother him but leaving the last few open for the people that come to make out. The things he's heard can never be unheard. 

 

“Hi!” The toe of Isak’s trainer catches against the tile and with a yelp he topples forward, the weight of his backpack aiding his momentum. Even reaches out and catches him, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“You didn’t,” Isak says. He straightens his coat, trying to catch his breath. His heart is still pounding. “What’re you doing?”

 

Even holds up a music folder. “I just finished. I was thinking of stopping by Kaffebrenneriet if you wanted to join? Or are you on your way to practice?”

 

“I’m done,” Isak says as nonchalantly as he can. He’s not sure what it is about Even that makes him lose every inch of his cool, but it certainly doesn’t help his case.

 

“Cool.” Even jerks his head towards the door, Isak falling into step beside him. He sneaks a glance when he's sure the other boy isn't looking, and then another just because. “Have you seen the video of a kitten in a bathtub of chickens?”

 

Isak’s a little taken aback by the non sequitur, but he rolls with it. “I don’t think so?”

 

“You remind me a little of the cat.”

 

“Thank you?”

 

“I’ll send it to you,” Even says. His hand brushes against Isak’s. It's cold. “No one should miss seeing it. Trust me, I’m a film student.”

 

“Wow,” Isak says dryly. “Your taste in movies is really high brow.”

 

Even laughs, clear and artless. “I know. My favorite director is Baz Luhrmann.” At Isak’s blank stare he elaborates. “The only director worse is Christopher Nolan. They’re kind of derivative answers.”

 

“They’re probably popular for a reason,” Isak offers. “Or influential at least. They’ve probably done a lot of film...things.” He _thinks_ he’s heard of Christopher Nolan, but Baz Luhrmann is definitely new.

 

The corner of Even’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “You have no idea what I’m talking about.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

The front door of Kaffebrenneriet is covered in fog, obscuring the view inside as the two draw closer. Even pulls it open, gesturing Isak through. “I’m sending you the cat video and a list of movies to watch,” he says, tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm saving you from yourself."

 

“Okay,” Isak says. “But no promises on how quickly it’ll be finished.”

 

“You have to at least watch _Romeo + Juliet_. It’s fucking art. I’ve seen it at least ten times and it still makes me cry.”

 

“Isn’t that the movie with Leonardo DiCaprio?”

 

Even nods. “Even if you hate it at least you can look at Leo,” he says without missing a beat. “That may or may not be why I saw it in the first place.”

 

Isak feels his heart leap (stupidly, irrationally). Even if Even doesn’t _appreciate_ the male form he still...appreciates the male form. In some way. “Fine.”

 

Even slides his phone across the table, screen displaying the page to add a new contact. Isak enters his information and saves it under ‘Isak Piano.’ He jumps a little as the phone rings, someone named Sonja calling. Her contact picture is of a smiling girl with short, blonde hair and a wide smile. He hands it back to Even. The other boy’s eyes fall on the I.D. and he excuses himself to answer, lips pressed into a frown.

 

Isak rocks back in his chair, fingers gripping the edge of the table. There’s a dick carved into the wood beside a stained coffee ring. Kaffebrenneriet is the quintessential coffee shop for any university area. Most of the employees are other students despite it not officially being affiliated. The coffee can be a little overpriced, but Isak knows better than anyone the lengths caffeine addicts will go to.

 

He looks up as Even steps back inside, cheeks pink from the cold.

 

“Sorry,” he says. He runs a hand through his hair, something distracted in his gaze. “I forgot I had to do something today.” Isak nods, and he hates the feeling of hollow disappointment that follows. Even locks eyes with him, seeming to ground himself in the motion. “Sorry,” he says again. “Rain check?”

 

“Sure,” Isak says. He feels like he should probably say something else--or at the very least smile but he can’t quite muster the energy. He glances towards the clock. By this point it’s not worth trying to make it back to the practice room.

 

Even hesitates, body still angled towards Isak even as he steps towards the door. “I’ll text you,” he says finally. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

 

Isak waves goodbye, exhaling through his teeth. Everything seems a little dimmer without Even. Laughter erupts from the table beside him, and he turns to see Emma and her group of friends watching something on the computer. Fuck. A confrontation is the last thing he needs. He ducks his head and pulls his hood up, slipping outside. It’s started to snow. A light dusting covers the street, sticking to his eyelashes and melting against his cheeks.

 

He supposes there’s nothing left to do and he starts back towards the university, snow untouched by his footsteps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the lovely comments last chapter. I really appreciate the support and I hope you enjoy the rest of...wherever this goes haha. I'm aiming for an update once a week and I think I have the general outline of where I want things to go. 
> 
> (Also no shade for Christopher Nolan and Baz Luhrmann stans, but that's the tea.)


	3. op. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it’s because he’s had too much to drink that he says “I’m gay.” Even turns to look at him, eyes silver in the starlight. “I’m out--I’ve been out for awhile now, but sometimes I just freeze. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
> 
> “It’s not stupid.” The boy's voice is soft, and Isak feels something crumble. “It’s how you feel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light cw for some negative comments about mental illness. Nothing particularly strong so far, but it will be a reoccurring theme throughout the story. Hence the modified tags. As always, thank you so much for your support. 
> 
> (Side note: Skam France is really out here trying to kill me. Pianist Isak is canon in at least one universe)

The only piano Isak has ever owned is an electric keyboard. It was also one of the only things he took with him when he moved out. Frankly, it looks like shit. The middle c is chipped where his dad dropped it moving it into his room, the power button is missing after an unfortunate incident with an electrical socket, and half the time it doesn’t even play because most of the keys have stopped working. Still, it’s his piano and even if he wanted to it’s not like he could afford a new one. 

 

Thankfully, the one feature that does still work is the headphone jack. Isak keeps the volume turned up, and on nights when he can’t sleep (which is most nights) he sits and plays. 

 

He rests his fingers over the keys and begins to play, letting his mind wander. At this point he has enough pieces memorized he doesn’t have to focus on what he’s doing, leaving him free to think. Tonight, about his dad. 

 

His last text still sits on Isak’s phone, regrettably opened.

 

**Hi Isak. Was wondering if you’re free Saturday. Kari would love to meet you. Hugs, Papa**

 

Isak slams a little harder on the keys, piano rattling on the stand and knocking against the wall. He and his dad had an agreement, and for the most part it worked. In exchange for pissing off and leaving his ex-wife in a mental institute, he sent Isak rent money and stayed out of his life. Other than that they don’t talk, and as far as Isak’s concerned they’re better off that way.

 

But suddenly he wants to act like nothing happened and have Isak play house with his shiny new family for an hour; as if he didn’t leave a fifteen year old with his mentally unhinged mother and not return for another eight months.

 

He scowls, striking a chord with his left hand considerably harder than the piece calls for. The piano bangs against the wall again, and a knock on the door draws him to a pause.

 

“Baby gay?” Eskild asks, sticking his head through the door. His hair is sleep mussed, eyes barely open. “Some people are trying to sleep.” His tone is light hearted enough, but Isak can detect a note of concern. “Can’t sleep again?”

 

“No.”

 

Eskild regards him for a moment before entering. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

 

“I’m fine,” Isak says.

 

“I’ve been told I’m a good listener,” Eskild says. Isak’s tempted to ask if whoever told him that was hard of hearing, but he figures keeping everyone awake with his playing is being enough of a shit for one night. 

 

“I’m good,” he says more firmly. “I’ll try to be quieter.”

 

“Okay,” Eskild says. “But if you change your mind you know where I live.” He grins, and Isak rolls his eyes.

 

“Hilarious.” 

 

He waits until Eskild has left before he starts playing again, a softer piece this time. It’s one he’d learned a while ago, but he’s too tired to place his finger on it’s name. It does the job, though, and the rest of the night passes without any more complaints from Eskild or Linn. 

 

It’s only once he turns the piano off and finally falls asleep that he realizes he’s been playing  _ The Girl With the Flaxen Hair _ \--the song Even was playing the first time they met.

 

::

 

Isak should’ve known by now agreeing to anything Magnus suggested was a bad idea. Case in point---William’s party which open to the whole university. (“It’ll be fun,” Magnus said. “We won’t leave you,” Magnus said.)

 

The only person who looks as uninterested as him is Sana, and even she’s talking to Noora. Jonas had disappeared with Eva and Magnus had ditched him like the traitor he is, leaving Isak alone in the kitchen to guard the weed. He has a feeling that’s only reason Magnus wanted him to come in the first place--to look after his shit. At least he’s near the beer. He supposes it could be worse. 

 

A blonde haired girl stumbles into the kitchen and makes a beeline for the beer cooler. She stops short when she sees Isak, and he offers a wave. 

 

Unfortunately, she seems to take this as an invitation for conversation. “I’m Anna,” she says. She leans in and Isak takes a step back. “I’ve seen you around.”

 

“Hi,” he says. He sets the weed down to pick up his beer, taking a generous drink. “I’m Isak.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Anna’s eyes fall to his lips. “Isak.”

 

“You too?” If he had an actual, working brain this would be the part of the conversation where he told her he was gay. Despite being out for a year and a half now he’s still not great at telling people. It’s not that he’s ashamed, exactly, but whenever he tries the words stick in his throat. Once people know it’s okay, but taking the initial plunge always makes him die a little inside. 

 

“Are you here alone?”

 

Instinctively he searches for any sign of his friends. Because they suck they’re nowhere to be found. “Uh…”

 

“There you are!” Somehow Even’s voice has become familiar over the past few weeks, and Isak relaxes at the sound without thinking. An arm slings around his shoulders, anchoring him to reality. “I was looking for you.” He gives Anna a blinding smile that seems to pacify her, gently guiding Isak out of the room. 

 

“Thanks for the save.”

 

“I  _ was _ looking for you if it makes you feel better,” Even says. “You looked a little uncomfortable.”

 

Isak snorts. “More than a little.” He looks down, flushing when he notices Even’s arm is still around his shoulders. The other boy seems to come to this realization at the same time and quickly removes his grip. Isak tries not to miss it. 

 

“I need some air,” he says. 

 

William’s yard is slightly quieter than his house. Both are massive, spanning more area than one person could ever use. Out here the music is a little less audible and the people less congested. He sits on the grass, leaning against the wall. Even mimics his movements. 

 

They sit in silence for a moment. Isak tucks his legs to his chest, glancing at Even. His head is tipped back to stare at the sky, neck smooth and pale.

 

Maybe it’s because he’s had too much to drink that he says “I’m gay.” Even turns to look at him, eyes silver in the starlight. “I’m out--I’ve been out for awhile now, but sometimes I just freeze. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

 

“It’s not stupid.” The boy's voice is soft, and Isak feels something crumble. “It’s how you feel. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

“I’m not ashamed,” Isak says sharply. (Mostly not ashamed.) 

 

“It’s okay if you are.”

 

“I’m not. Just scared I guess?” He’s definitely had too much to drink. 

 

“Of what?”

 

Isak thunks his head back against the wall. “I don’t know.” It’s a complete cop out, and they both know it. 

 

“When I first realized I was pansexual it took me awhile to come out,” Even says. “I was afraid people would treat me differently or something once they knew.”

 

“What changed?”   
  


He shrugs. “Just stopped caring, I guess. There’s enough about me to have a problem with, if my sexuality is what turns someone off I don’t give a shit.” He bumps his shoulder against Isak’s. “But that’s easier said than done. It’s okay if you’re not there yet.”

 

“I don’t know if I ever will be,” Isak admits quietly. “I haven’t...my parents don’t know.” And that’s really the crux of everything, isn’t it? 

 

If Even finds this surprising he doesn't show it. “What do you think they’d say?”

 

“I haven’t spoken to them in three years, so.” Isak tugs on his shoelaces, and despite the time that’s passed he can’t help the shame that threatens to choke him every time he thinks about his mom. “What did your family say?”

 

“They were chill.” Even is staring at the stars again, like he’s searching for something. “My parents were okay with it at least. Not everyone’s as lucky.” A breeze rustles through the grass and Isak shivers before he can stop himself. “Do you want to go in?”

 

They probably should. Isak says no anyway. Even doesn’t look particularly bothered, and he lets himself pretend it means something more than pity. Just for a moment. 

 

“I saw _ Romeo + Juliet _ ,” he says.

 

Even sits up a little straighter. “What did you think?”

 

“It was good.”

 

“Did you cry.”

 

“...No.”

 

They’re sitting close enough Isak can feel Even’s laughter. “You totally fucking cried.”

 

“Fine. Maybe a little.” Actually, Isak had cried enough even Linn knocked and asked why he hadn’t come out yet. “That montage was some manipulative bullshit.” He’d been feeling it a little before that, but that was the part that finally got him. 

 

“I knew you would like it. It’s one of my favorite films. Probably my favorite romance movie.”

 

“I don’t really think Romeo and Juliet is a romance,” Isak says. Even gives him a sideways look. “They usually look older in movies and stuff, but isn’t Juliet supposed to be thirteen or something? They’ve only known each other for what--a couple months? At most? Sure, it sucks they die but it’s not because they love each other. They’re teenagers in their first relationship, obviously they’re going to be dramatic. If their families hadn’t interfered they probably would’ve broken up anyway. It’s a tragedy, but I don’t think it’s a love story.”

 

“That’s what makes it a romance. To be a great love story, it has to have a sad ending.” Isak opens his mouth, but Even continues talking. “And Romeo and Juliet would’ve stayed together forever, fuck you.”

 

“Hm. Would they’ve?”

 

“Yeah. Maybe you’re just cynical.”

 

“Maybe you’re just naive,” Isak retorts. 

 

“Wow. That hurt,” Even says, splaying his hand over his heart. 

 

“You’ll get over it.”

 

“I doubt it,” he says, smiling. Isak smiles back  before he can stop himself, just a little. He’s probably been staring for longer than is socially acceptable, but Even hasn’t looked away either. This close he can make out the shape of a freckle on the other boy’s temple. 

 

A sudden whoop shatters the calm, and Isak turns to see William and some of his friends stumble onto the lawn. It’s obvious from their lack of quiet and the slight sway to their movements that they’re drunk, which for people that drink as much as the Penetrators is impressive. 

 

“What time is it?” Even asks. 

 

Isak clears his throat, checking his watch. “21:21.”

 

“Really?” 

 

He nods, stretching his legs out in front of him. His thigh brushes against Even’s and the other boy’s skin feels like it’s burning, even through the layers of denim that separate them. Or maybe it’s Isak that’s burning, because as he presses a little closer and Even’s fingers hesitantly lace through his it feels like every nerve is alight.

 

Neither of them comment on it and as the party continues inside, outside Isak flickers in the dark. 

  
  
  


He doesn’t even notice the missing weed until it’s too late. 

 

::

 

The library is quiet, and sometimes that’s not a bad thing. Especially when he’s nursing a slight hangover and sleep deprivation to boot.

 

Isak likes to hide behind the reference books, and when he puts his headphones in the rest of the world disappears. After a particularly draining lecture (who the fuck goes fifteen minutes over?) such is his plan of attack for the next hour, until he catches Sana in his peripheral vision. He sighs, pressing pause and looking up expectantly. 

 

“I’m Sana,” she says, fixing him with a slightly intense stare.

 

He stares at her in bewilderment. “I know,” he says slowly. “We’re both friends with Eva.”

 

“Exactly.” She sits across from him, drumming her fingers together. “What are you doing next Thursday?”

 

“Nothing, I think?”

 

“You are now. There’s a baking club next Thursday at four. I’ll send you the details.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Isak asks. “Why would I do that?”

 

Sana reaches into her pocket and emerges with a familiar looking plastic bag. She shakes it slightly, the weed shifting in place. “You forgot something yesterday.” Isak lunges for it, but she jerks it away before he can grab it. “You get it back  _ if _ you come to the meeting.”

 

He slumps back in his chair, scowling. One thing he does know about Sana is that if she has her mind set on something there’s not much point in trying to convince her otherwise. “I come to this meeting and you’ll give it back?” Sana nods. “Why?” Out of all the things he’d blackmail someone over, attending a stupid baking club would be at the bottom. 

 

Sana frowns. “Because I have your weed and that’s what I want.” 

 

“Fine.”

 

“Fine.” She nods, pushing her chair back with an entirely too self-satisfied look. “I’ll see you there.” Isak grunts, burying his face in his arms. “Maybe you’ll like it more than you think.” 

 

Somehow, he highly doubts that. 


	4. op. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t turn someone gay,” Even says, and any trace of warmth is gone.
> 
> “He hooked up with half our year,” Emma says. She laughs, and the sound rattles in Isak’s skull. “They were all female.”
> 
> “Someone might not know or be ready to come out yet, but they don’t turn gay,” Even says, and even Isak looks up at the edge in his voice. “That’s a really shitty stereotype that doesn’t have any basis in fact.”

“Hello everyone!” Vilde says cheerily. Her blonde hair is kept in place by a pink bow, smile wide. “Thank you for joining us. We’re going to make this club the best in the whole campus! Before the end of today we’ll break up into groups of two, and each duo will meet once a week to practice the baking theme to bring to our next meeting.”

 

Isak pulls his phone out of his pocket, holding it under the table and scrolling through Instagram. In his defense he’s lasted three minutes and at least he showed up. Sana owes him a fucking medal.

 

“I’m Vilde. This is Emma, Sana, Chris, and Noora.” Vilde pauses, eyes flitting around the room nervously. “I um...we’ll start with you.”

 

Sana coughs and Isak looks up, returning her glare. “What?”

 

“What’s your name and major?” Vilde asks. “We’ll go around the room.”

 

Isak resists the urge to roll his eyes, slouching in his chair. “I’m Isak,” he says. “I’m majoring in music, concentration in piano.”

 

“What inspired you to join the club?” Vilde asks.

 

He doubts blackmail is an acceptable answer. “I just really love baking, I guess,” he deadpans. The door swings open, and somehow he doesn’t have to look to know who it is.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Even says. He takes the empty seat to Isak’s right, flashing him a smile when their eyes meet.

 

“You’re just in time,” Vilde says. “Do you want to introduce yourself? Name and major.”

 

Even runs a hand through his hair, leaving some of the strands sticking up. “I’m Even, and I’m studying film.”

 

“What interested you about the club?”

 

His eyes dart toward Isak. “I had a free period.”

 

Vilde moves onto the next person, but Isak is still focused on Even. “What are you doing here?” he whispers.

 

Even gives him a wounded look. “I just introduced myself. You never listen.”

 

“I listened,” Isak says. “I just don’t understand any anyone would willingly waste their time coming to a baking club.”

 

“ _You’re_ here.”

 

“Not because I want to be, trust me.”

 

“I was bored,” Even says. “Besides, I actually like to cook.”

 

“What, really?”

 

“You can’t imagine me as a chef?”

 

Isak squints. “No, not really.”

 

Even rests his elbows on his knees, eyebrows quirking in challenge. “I’ve been informed I make the best scrambled eggs.”

 

“By who? Your mom?”

 

“Yes, and Sonja.”

 

Something about the name is familiar, and Isak tries to shift through his memories. He comes up blank. “Sonja?”

 

Even stiffens slightly, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Sonja is...a friend,” he says finally.

 

Isak’s tempted to inquire further, but it’s clear he’s uncomfortable so he doesn’t push it. “A true friend wouldn’t lie to you,” he says instead.

 

“Someday I’m going to make you scrambled eggs and you’re going to eat those words," Even says.

 

“Or maybe this is your way of trying to give me food poisoning,” Isak says. “If you kill me, then we don’t have to fight over the practice room anymore.”

 

“If I wanted to kill you I would’ve done it by now.”

 

“Okay, that’s fair.”

 

“Isak, have you baked before?” He startles at the sound of his name, tearing his eyes away from Even to see Vilde staring at him expectantly.

 

“Not really,” he hedges. (It’s a more polite version of _fuck no_.)

 

“Okay.” She looks a little discouraged at his response, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. Something seems to dawn on her a moment later and her expression brightens. “Sana, you can show Isak what to do!” Sana shoots her a filthy look, and Isak might be more offended if he hadn’t been hoping to partner with Even.

 

“No.”

 

“He has no idea what he’s doing, and you’re better at baking than any of us.“

 

“Vilde.”

 

“Please?”

 

“...Fine," Sana relents, something long suffering in her tone. 

 

“Great!” she says, beaming. “You can sit with Eva and Chris.”

 

Isak scowls, grabbing his bag. No one’s asked him if _he_ wants to work with Sana, but here they are because it’s not bad enough she’s holding him hostage.

 

Even reaches for his sleeve, halting his movements. “I’ll see you after?” 

 

“Okay,” Isak says, and it’s stupid how their exchange makes some of his irritation dissipate.

 

“Okay,” Even echoes. He's used less product in his hair today. The observation makes Isak feel a little like a stalker, but it looks even softer than usual.

 

Vilde’s started talking again, and he makes his way towards Sana who at least doesn’t look any happier than he does. “Maybe you’ll like it more than you think,” he says, unable to help himself.

 

She flicks a piece of eraser at him.

 

The rest of the room has similarly paired off, and she brightens at the arrival of Eva and Chris. The three are immediately engrossed in conversation, and taking advantage of their distraction Isak scans the room for Even.

 

His heart sinks when he finds him, sitting next to a laughing Emma. He hadn’t known she’d be here.

 

Emma had actually gone to school with him, and before he’d realized he was gay they’d dated. He may not have handled it in the best way, (he definitely didn’t handle it in the best way) but after they’d broken up she’d outed him to the rest of the school. If it hadn’t been for Jonas he probably wouldn’t have made it through intact.

 

He doesn’t even want to imagine what she’s telling Even.

 

“Isak?” Sana says, waving a hand in front of him. He gets the feeling this isn’t the first time she’s tried to get his attention.

 

“What?”

 

“I asked if we could bake at your place.”

 

“I guess,” he says. “I live with roommates, though.”

 

“Ooh, who?” Chris asks. There’s no sign of embarrassment at having been eavesdropping.

 

“Eskild and Linn,” Isak says. “They’re both upperclassmen, so you probably don’t know them.”

 

“I know Linn,” Chris says, which is definitely not what he was expecting. Of the two Eskild is usually the one with a greater presence. “She’s cool.”

 

“Yeah," he says distractedly. He worries the hem of his jacket between his fingers, glancing at Even's table again. Emma’s leaned in close enough her shoulder brushes against the other boy’s whenever either of them move, and something uneasy settles in his stomach. From what he’s not entirely sure, but he can’t shake the feeling of disquiet for the rest of the meeting.

 

 

 

 

As promised Even’s waiting by the door at the end of the meeting. Unfortunately, Emma’s waiting with him. Isak debates the merits of escaping and telling Even he’ll catch him later, but before he can Even’s waving him over. “This is Emma,” he says. “She’s my baking partner.”

 

“We already know each other,” Emma says brightly. She’s grown her hair out a little but for the most part she looks the same.

 

“You do?”

 

“Yeah." Isak sends a prayer to whatever deity might be listening that she leaves it at that. “Isak was my first boyfriend,” Emma continues, because if there is a god he hates him.

 

“Really?” Even asks. If anything he looks a little amused, giving Isak a look he doesn’t return.

 

“We dated for what, seven months?” Isak wants to tell her he doesn’t remember (he’s pushed it deep, deep down) and also would she please stop talking, but something’s pushed the air out of his lungs and he can’t seem to get it back. “Then he turned gay and we broke up.”

 

Even’s smile disappears. “Turned gay?”

 

“Well, he cheated on me actually.” Emma pats Isak on the arm and bile burns in the back of his throat. He drops his eyes to the floor, shame crawling across his skin. Whatever Even’s criticism he knows he deserves it, but he can’t bring himself to watch.

 

“You can’t turn someone gay,” Even says, and any trace of warmth is gone.

 

“He hooked up with half our year,” Emma says. She laughs, and the sound rattles in Isak’s skull. “They were all female.”

 

“Someone might not know or be ready to come out yet, but they don’t _turn gay_ ,” Even says, and even Isak looks up at the edge in his voice. “That’s a really shitty stereotype that doesn’t have any basis in fact.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she says. She jumps to her feet, and despite the dark look on Even’s face appears relatively unbothered. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

 

The door slams shut with her departure.

 

The following silence is suffocating. Isak tugs on the collar of his shirt, yanking it away from his throat. It doesn’t make it any easier to breathe.

 

Even breaks the quiet first. “She seems nice,” he says dryly.

 

“Don’t,” Isak says.

 

“Don’t what?”

 

“You heard what she said.”

 

“Isak, whatever happened,” Even pauses. “Or didn’t, it was a long time ago.”

 

“And that makes it okay?” Isak snaps.

 

“Of course not. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, and she shouldn’t have--”

 

“Stop, Even,” he says flatly, because he doesn’t think he can listen any longer. “What--whatever _thing_ you think you understand, you don’t. She wasn’t lying. I led her on, and when I lost interest I hooked up with someone at a party. I don’t even remember his name.”

 

He shoulders his backpack, ignoring the burning behind his eyes. With how well he and Even had been getting on it was easy to forget. Comparatively, his relationship with Emma is one of the least shitty things he’s done. Jonas, Emma, his mom; Isak’s broken all of them and even when he’s tried to put them back together the pieces never fit the same.

 

It’s only a matter of time before Even becomes another.

 

“Isak--”

 

He doesn’t stay long enough to hear the rest of his sentence.

 

::

 

It’s one in the afternoon and Isak’s slept a total of two hours in the past twenty-four. It’s not for lack of trying, but sometimes his melatonin decides to be a little shit and not function. All of the moisture in his eyes has been sucked out, and every time he blinks his eyelids stick together. His sleep schedule isn’t great at the best of times, and with midterms approaching this is far from it. Even playing the piano hasn’t helped.

 

(He hasn’t heard from Even since Friday, either, which he tells himself is completely unrelated.)

 

“Still brooding?” Eskild asks, barging into his room like he owns it.

 

Isak almost falls out of bed. “Fucking hell Eskild, we’ve talked about this. What if I was naked?”

 

“You weren’t, were you?”

 

“That’s not the point!”

 

“Get dressed,” his roommate says, forgoing a response. “We’re going to the store.”

 

“I don’t need anything,” Isak says. He also doesn’t particularly want to move.

 

“It’s not a request. Linn’s coming too.”

 

He groans. If Linn’s going there’s no way Eskild will let him skip. He shoves on a snapback and just to spite him keeps on his pajama shirt--the Jesus shirt he’d stolen from the older boy a couple of months ago that he refuses to return. Isak’s not religious, far from it, but it’s worn out enough to be soft and always reminds him of the Kollektiv.

 

He reaches for his phone and as if on cue it starts to ring. It’s his dad. And, well. Ignoring his texts is one thing, but he can count the number of conversations they’ve had on one hand. If he’s actually picking up the phone something’s wrong.

 

Isak braces himself and presses accept. “Hello?”

 

“Hi Isak.”

 

He hates his dad for the ache of longing at the sound of his voice. “What do you want?”

 

“You didn’t respond to my texts.”

 

“So?” It’s not like that’s anything new. If his dad wants to start getting pissy about it now that’s not his problem.

 

“Marianne is getting discharged Friday,” his dad says bluntly. Isak’s stomach drops. He presses the phone closer to his ear, the buttons indenting his hand with the force. “Which you would know if you ever picked up your phone.” He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. “Isak?”

 

Isak forces his lips to move, pushing the words out even as they resist. “Where’s she going after?”

 

“There’s an apartment in Oslo. It’s not too far from your school.”

 

He knows where this is going. “No.”

 

“It’s an option. There’s another bedroom.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“Isak. You need somewhere to live.”

 

“I have somewhere to live,” he says. His emotions are quickly giving way to anger. “And I’m not leaving. I’ve been living here for two years. What, are you going to stop paying for rent if I don’t move back?”

 

“Of course not. But it would be easier to only have one apartment to worry about. It’s going to be a big adjustment, and having you there would help.”

 

“If you’re so worried about her then why don’t you move back?” Isak hates the way his voice shakes, hates how he feels like a child again.

 

“You know I can’t do that. I have a job, a home, a family. I can’t abandon everything to move to Oslo.”

 

“You never had a problem with it before.”

 

His dad exhales, long and low. “I never wanted to leave you, Isak. I love you and I loved your mother. But she was too much. I couldn’t take it anymore.” He pauses, and this is the part where Isak should say something except he doesn’t think he can without shouting (or crying). “I’ll send you the address.”

 

He hangs up and Isak presses the heel of his palms against his eyes, hard enough to see spots. He feels like he’s buzzing, every inch of him vibrating through his skin and stretched enough to break.

 

There’s a ringing in his ears, and the back of his knees bump against the edge of his bed as he collapses. His nails dig into his arm and he tries to focus on the sting but the static won’t stop and the more he tries to focus the louder it gets until he can barely hear himself _breathe_ let alone _think_ and he’s such a fucking mess that one conversation with his dad can make him feel like he’s fourteen again and listening to his parents scream at each other from his bedroom.

 

All he can think about is _she was too much_ and he wants to scream because if any of them are too much it’s his fucking dad but he can’t because the static has traveled to his chest and he can’t breathe because there’s something squeezing his lungs until he’s choking on oxygen and Isak feels a little like he’s going to die.

 

“Isak!” Eskild grabs his hands, pulling them away from where they’re scrabbling at his throat because _he can’t fucking breathe and if his dad kills him isn’t that just the fucking story of his life._ “Isak, look at me.”

 

He shakes his head, partly because he doesn’t want Eskild to see him like this and mostly because it’s all he can do right now without vomiting. He knows he needs to stop thinking about his dad but the more he tries the more it’s all he can do. There’s a weird gasping sound and he wants to tell whoever it is to shut up because they’re not helping but when he opens his mouth it just gets louder.

 

“Linn!” Eskild shouts. Per usual, there’s no response. “Linn!”

 

Their roommate emerges from her room, irritation at being interrupted vanishing immediately. Isak must really look pathetic. “What--”

 

“I think he’s having a panic attack.”

 

Isak wants to tell him to go fuck himself because he doesn’t _get_ panic attacks and anyway that’s not what this is it’s just him being pathetic and unable to handle anything like a fucking adult but his hand is still trembling in Eskild’s and it’s a sad day when he can’t even focus enough to flip someone off.

 

“Go get a glass of water,” Linn says. Eskild hesitates, and she snaps. “Do you want him to die of asphyxiation?” He leaves without another word, and she kneels in front of Isak. “Can I touch you?”

 

Isak’s thoughts are still too scrambled to make sense of anything but he makes some sort of weird gesture Linn must take as a yes because she pulls the blanket off the end of his bed and wraps him in a hug. Which is...weird. As much as Isak doesn’t like to touch people Linn likes it even less.

 

“Just listen to my breathing,” she says. “I’m going to count back from ten.” He forces himself to inhale, a sad, shuddering sound that echoes in his chest. Linn exhales exaggeratedly, and he listens to the sound of her breathing and tries to follow.

 

Eskild skids back into Isak’s room, water glass overflowing. He hands it to Isak and he takes a sip. His heart rate has begun to slow, and at Eskild’s urging he drinks some more. Unfortunately, as he starts to calm down the only thing he can feel is embarrassment. Isak hates crying in front of people--always has, and the fact he lives with Eskild and Linn (and it was over his fucking _dad_ ) only makes it worse.

 

Linn is still hugging him, and the wool of the blanket is scratchy beneath his chin. “Are you feeling better?” she asks softly.

 

“A little,” he says. His voice sounds like he’s been hit by a truck.

 

“I don’t suppose you want to talk about it?” Eskild suggests, though they both know it’s a lost cause. Isak gives him a look. “Do you want us to stay?”

 

The thing is, he really doesn’t want to be alone. Everything’s louder when it’s just him, but asking Eskild and Linn to stay like he’s a five year old afraid of the dark is even worse.

 

Eskild reaches over and turns on the light. “Move over,” he orders, and Linn moves both of them closer to the wall. He throws himself in the empty space, rolling over to face the ceiling. “When was the last time you changed your sheets?” he asks suddenly, wrinkling his nose.

 

“When was the last time you changed _your_ sheets?” Linn counters.

 

“Last month!”

 

“...Okay.”

 

“Do you not believe me?”

 

“I never believe you.”

 

Isak rolls over to face the wall, tracing one of the hairline cracks with his fingertip. He closes his eyes and tries, just for a moment, to forget.

 

“If you want us to leave just say, okay?” Eskild says. He ruffles the top of Isak’s head, and though he would never admit it it’s...nice. To feel like someone cares even when (especially when) he doesn’t deserve it.

 

”Okay,” he says quietly. He nestles further under the blanket, letting the sounds of Linn and Eskild's bickering lull him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a video of Rocco (Italian Even) playing the piano at a Skam convention and it did things to me. I've been wanting to write a pianist au for ages, and after listening to the song I wondered what a scene would look like if og Even played the piano for Isak and it went from there. Thank you so much for reading thus far, I really appreciate it xx


End file.
